Kelly Baxter lay sprawled on the king-sized bed, shattered and cum-drunk. Her body glistened with sweat. Her left breast, with its dark nipple, was coated in cum. Cum was smeared across her stomach. Cum dripped from her, sliding down her inner thighs. With the back of her hand she wiped the cum from her mouth and chin, then licked her hand, tasting the rich semen that had filled her.
She was vaguely aware that she still wore the torn remnants of her camisole. Her wool skirt, the one she had considered demur and conservative, was bunched at her waist. Her delicate ivory lace panties were gone, tattered shreds ripped off and cast aside.
What had she done? Why had she done it? Foggy from the intense pleasure that had overwhelmed her it was as if she had been someone else. Some animal of lust and desire, used hard, fucked hard, giving as good as she got and now, satiated, slowly returning to her senses with a rising tide of shame washing over her.
No, not shame. Embarrassment perhaps, thinking of what she had said and done, thinking of her ordinary life, her husband and children. What would they think if they had seen her? Seen what was done to her, what she had done?
But now, in this moment, she was simply cum-drunk. That part of her, the part that had orgasm after orgasm, that had cried out like an animal of need, knew it had been worth it. That part turned back the tide of embarrassment, sighed, and remembered.
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Kelly had developed a rich fantasy life. Sex in her marriage was not bad. Gary, her husband of twenty-seven years was a competent lover. There were times he was spontaneous, passionate, and inspired. Those times were spread across a year though, as they were separated by his work demands often enough.
She turned to the sensual power of her imagination and the technological power of her vibrator to fill the gaps. She'd always had a rich imagination, constructing elaborate scenarios of passionate sex from the fabric of life around her. Now that her two children had gone to college her role as "Mom" had diminished to texts, phone calls, and the odd weekend visit.
Inside those elaborate fantasies were several secrets. First, perhaps foremost, was Liz from down the street. Liz was a willowy redhead who lived a few blocks away. There was something about her, a frankness, a way of looking at Kelly that stirred something deep within her.
Kelly had never been bisexual. Most of the time it held no interest for her. She liked men. No, she loved men. She loved their bodies, the way they moved, the way they smelled, and the way they fucked. But there was something about Liz that made Kelly dream of fucking her. She fantasized about the two of them together, sprawled on the king size bed, a sweaty tangle of fingers and tongues.
Another secret was Tucker. Tucker was one of the neighborhood kids. He'd moved in with his parents as a junior in high school and had been a casual acquaintance of her kids. She knew him well enough to stop and spend a few minutes chatting with him when their paths crossed at one of the local stores.
Just under six feet tall, sandy haired and green eyed, he was one of those self-possessed young men who moved and spoke with genuine warmth and quiet confidence. Even so, he never would have entered her fantasy life except for an overhead conversation at a street party.
She'd been sitting quietly at a bistro table on the sidewalk, under the shade of a Spanish oak, checking work email, when the snippet of conversation floated on the wind to her. She remembered it clearly, two women, talking in hushed tones. They were playing a private game of kill, marry, fuck while people watching.
"What about Tucker?"
"Oh god, I'd fuck that boy, but he'd probably kill me."
Quiet laughter.
"You're bad! He's your son's age."
"Wouldn't matter. The boy was at the Delano's pool party and let me just say, he's packing some serious heat downstairs."
"Oh my god, you're such a size queen."
"You know it. Tammy told me the reason he doesn't have a serious girlfriend is because the young one's can't handle him."
"Details! I need details."
"My daughter told me that the King girl, Alexa, went out with him for a while, until one afternoon Sherry came home and caught them fucking, a little afternoon delight. He had her on her hands and knees on the living room floor. He was fucking her from behind and she was moaning like she was a little whore."
"Oh god! What did Sherry do?"
"According to my daughter, nothing. She just stood there open mouthed and watching while he treated Alexa like a fuck toy. Poor Sherry was lost in shock and awe while he turned her daughter inside out with a horse-cock. She says Alexa couldn't walk right for a week and Sherry couldn't stop talking about it every time she had a pair of martinis."
"She was probably wishing it was her split open on his cock."
"Oh, I don't doubt it, give that woman a cocktail and she's giving her tail to the nearest cock. She's probably fucked half the club by now, including the staff."
Kelly furtively glanced around for the source of the conversation but couldn't identify them. The block party faded in time, but the conversation stayed vivid in her memory. She tried to ignore it, but it remained there, twisting and turning. Sometimes she imagined she was Sherry, watching Tucker treat her daughter like a fuck-toy. Sometimes she imagined she was Alexa, on her hands and knees, moaning as Tucker's cock plunged in and out of her. Other times she imagined it was her moaning and whimpering as Tucker's long and thick cock ravaged her.
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